I'll be waiting at the cross-road
by TheDragonflyInn
Summary: After celebrating christmas with her family, a 74-year old Rory looks through her old box of memories. It might be a bit of a sad story: but life is sad sometimes, isn't it? Oneshot.


_I'm working on updating my other stories, but I had to get this story out of my head first and as you all know: the only way to get a story out of your head is to write it._

_The children's book Brothers Lionheart that is mentioned in this story is by Astrid Lindgren, the Swedish author that wrote Pippi Longstocking. it has been made into a movie as well, and if you haven't already: Check it out, it was one of my favourite stories as a kid. (I found it on youtube with english subtitles a few days ago...in case anyone's interested...)_

_On to the story - and please review and let me know what you think!_

* * *

"Grandma, are you coming?"

Rory turned her head and looked at the young girl who had just popped her head out the door. Grandma. She was a grandmother. Even though her granddaughter had turned 12 last month she still couldn't grasp the fact that she was a grandmother. She didn't feel like a grandmother.

"I'll be there in a minute." She turned her head and looked at the girl. She was so pretty. Just like her mother. She had the same dark eyes that both she and her grandfather had. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face and held in its place with a red ribbon that made her look much younger.

Her granddaughter hesitantly stepped out on the porch and sat down next to her. "Are you thinking about grandpa?"

Rory smiled at the girl. Her mind had been elsewhere, but she knew all too well how much the girl loved hearing her talk about her grandfather. "He loved this time of year." She said and looked out over the snow-covered lawn.

The young girl bended her head down and looked at her feet. "I don't really remember him." She mumbled.

Rory shook her head and pulled her granddaughter closer and kissed her forehead. "You were too young when he passed away. There's no fault in that."

The girl looked up at her, with a shy smile on her face. "But I feel like I knew him anyway, you know. You and mom talk about him and sometimes I feel like I was there too, in your stories."

"He loved you very much."

"Tell me about the time when he and uncle Will both got dressed up as Santa Claus when I was five and doubted his existence."

Rory smiled at the memory. "Maybe after dinner, right now I think we should go inside before your mother comes out and berates me for sitting out her without my jacket or a blanket." She got up from her seat and waited for her granddaughter to stand up as well and then leaned in and whispered. "Sometimes you'd think she thought I was too old to care of myself."

The girl smiled at her, knowing her grandmother could very well take care of herself. "She just worries about you."

Rory winked at her and smiled back. "I know, and I love her for it."

* * *

The car pulled up outside a big house in the middle of town and the two women in the front seat turned to face each other.

"You sure you'd be okay? I would rather you spent the night at our place. Your house is so big and empty and it _is_ still the holidays." Her daughter Evelyn looked at her and Rory reached her hand out and stroked her face.

"Sweetie. Don't worry about me, okay. I'm 74, save your worries for when I'm 94 and can't feed myself anymore."

The younger woman sighed. "I know you're fine on your own, but that doesn't mean I won't still worry."

Rory smiled. "And I'll always worry about you, 'cause that's what parents do." She got out of the car and before closing the door she leaned back in. "And remember…"

Evelyn rolled her eyes and laughed. "…when you're 94 and can't feed yourself anymore, you still won't want any vegetables with your food."

"I taught you well." She said as she closed the door and started walking to the front door of her house.

When she unlocked her front door and opened it she turned around and waved goodbye at her daughter, knowing all too well she wouldn't drive away until making sure her mother had gotten inside.

Once inside she made herself a cup of tea and took it with her upstairs. She had always preferred coffee to tea, but at later years she had started making herself a cup of tea before bedtime. She had tried it once because she read about someone drinking a cup of tea while reading before bedtime and it had sounded so cozy. Tea and a book. It was cozy. Coffee and a book didn't have the same cozy ring to it.

She entered her bedroom and placed the tea on her nightstand. She then bent down on her knees and pulled a box out from under the bed. With a groan deriving from the effort she lifted the box onto the bed and sat down next to it.

With uttermost care she lifted the lid of the box and began picking things out of the box and placing them in piles on the bed spread: a number of letters, ten books which she divided into two piles, some photos and a bracelet.

She picked up the bracelet first and let it slid through her fingers. It was a simple silver chain with a small charm in the shape of a book attached to it. He had given it to her on her wedding day, but she had never worn it. She hadn't been able to, it meant too much too her, she had saved it for some special occasion that had never occurred. Instead she had placed in her box of memories a few years back and picked it up every now and then and looked at it with reverence.

With a deep sigh she put the bracelet back into the box and picked up the top book in the smallest of the book piles. _On the Road_ by Jack Kerouac. He had given her that book in what felt like a life time ago – and it almost was. She smiled at how stubborn she had been in refusing to read it. Every week he would call and ask her if she read it yet. Every week she would tell him all the things she rather do than read _that_ book. She hadn't read it 'cause she was afraid his weekly phone calls would cease if she did finish the book. They had anyway. Nothing dramatic about it; more and more time had passed between the calls, life was taking up both of their times, and without neither of them really realizing it they were no longer keeping in touch.

The next book she picks up draws a flood of silent tears to her eyes. Not because of him really, but because of what the book meant to her; because of the time he had given her that book. At her mother's funeral. It was thirteen years ago but the wound still felt fresh, she had reconciled long ago that it would always feel fresh. The book was _Brother's Lionheart_ by Astrid Lindgren. It was a children's book that dealt with death and the afterlife. She wiped the tears of her eyes and opened the book to the first page and read the words he wrote for her on it. _That's where they are, together and happy, waiting for us to come tell them what happened after they left._

Her mother had died too young at 77, only three years older than Rory was now. But after Luke's sudden departure all her will to keep living was gone. She was just an empty shell.

She can still remember her mother's almost unnatural scream when the doctor told them he hadn't made it out of surgery. He had had a ruptured aortic aneurysm. A very serious condition that needed immediate medical attention – not to be confused with a broken heart, which is what her mother most probably died of, even though the doctors told Rory she never really recovered from that pneumonia. What 77-year old dies of pneumonia in the 21th century?

She puts the book down in the box and takes a few minutes to gather herself before picking up the last book from the small pile of books: _the Howl_ by Allen Ginsberg. It is the copy of the book that he snatched during their first meeting. It was the first item she ever put in her memory box. The margins of the book are full of the notes he made before returning it to her. She had called him Dodger.

She smiles at the memory as she puts that book as well back in the box and picks up the pile photos. The first photo is of her and Jess standing on each side of her mother and Luke on their wedding day. A short, laughing sound escapes her throat. They are both looking towards the camera and smiling. It is a really good picture. It is only if you look really close that you can see that her hair is a bit messy and that he has traces of her lipstick surrounding his mouth. Minutes before the picture was taken they had been making out in the wardrobe section of the wedding party. That was back then they were trying to keep their relationship a secret to everyone. They hadn't succeeded very well with that.

The next picture is older than the first. It's from the party Jess and his co-workers thrown when they had bought the place next door to Truncheon and turned it into a bar. That was the first time she saw him since she broke up with Logan. She smiles at the picture with her and Jess in the middle, surrounded by his friends and co-workers. It had been a wonderful couple of days before she had to return to the campaign trail and leave him again.

The next picture is really not a picture, but a 'thank you'-note. It's folded in two and the first page depicts Jess in a tux, standing next to a blonde woman in a white dress. They're both smiling. He looked beautiful, and so did she. She opens the note and reads the handwritten text on the inside. _Thank you for being a part of making this day wonderful and happy. Love Jess and Jane._

The last picture in the pile is a family photo, taken at her mother's 50th birthday party. In the middle of the picture Lorelai and Luke are sitting on a couch, surrounded by their family. Jess and Jane are standing behind the couch next to Luke and their little daughter Sarah has climbed up on his lap. Will, her half-brother, is sitting on the couch next to Luke, with a surly look on his face – the teenage trademark look.

The younger version of herself is sitting next to Lorelai on the couch, holding a little baby in her arms. Michael. Her son. He looked so small, not like now when he was all grown up and had a family of his own. Had that much time really passed since that picture was taken? It felt unreal.

Standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders is Mark, her husband. Their daughter has followed Sarah's suit and climbed up on Lorelai's lap. Rory smiles at the memory. At that age, Sarah, who was a year older, had been Evelyn's greatest idol.

They're all smiling at the camera. One big happy family. They had really been that. It wasn't until Luke passed away that everything had begun to fall apart. First Luke and then her mother, and only a few years later Mark had gotten that heart attack. She had found him lifeless on the kitchen floor when she got home from work. She shrugged at the memory. And now Jane. She shook her head. Life wasn't fair.

They had all lost touch since then. Will had moved to Boston and they kept in touch every now and then, but he wasn't the talkative kind of guy and their phone calls were often short. Of course she was still close to her children, but she doubted Evelyn even remembered the name of her greatest childhood idol. She hadn't spoken to either Jess or Jane since her mother's funeral.

She sighs and puts the photos back in the box and looks through the other pile of books. Seven books – all written by Jess Mariano. She doesn't flip through them. She has read them all so many times she could probably recite them in her sleep. Instead she puts them back in the box and gets up from the bed to go prepare herself for the night.

She placed her hands around the teacup still placed on her nightstand. It was cold. She had forgotten about it. She took the cup with her to throw it away as she left the room.

When arriving back into her bedroom, wearing her pajamas and ready for bed, she put the box on the floor and placed the pile of letters on her nightstand before turning the bed down and crawling in. She put her reading glasses on and picked up the first letter in the pile and started reading.

The letters were many and written throughout a great amount of time. Most of them were written during that short period of time were they had for once been in the same place in their lives and made things work between them. Some were written before that, and some after.

She read until her eyelids started dropping and the letters started looking blurry. She then turned the light off and went to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, after having had breakfast she put on her coat and walked a few feet to the bus stop, where she sat down and waited. It wasn't long before the bus arrived. She got on it and rested her head against the window as the bus left Stars Hollow. She couldn't read on the bus any longer, her eyes were too bad and it made her dizzy. Unless she wore her reading glasses of course, but they made her look old, so she only wore them at home.

Lost in her thoughts she stared out the window until the bus reached Hartford and she got off. She put her gloves on and started walking. The streets looked the same as they did almost 60 years ago when she attended school here. She wondered if Chilton was still the same. Maybe there was a new Paris and a new Rory, and maybe even a new Tristan walking the halls of Chilton.

She slowed down when entering onto a street lined with small rows of houses. She looked at the houses in confusion, they didn't look the same. Or at least, they didn't look like she remembered them. She tried her best to focus and read the names on the mail boxes without looking like a burglar.

She giggled to herself. Who in their right mind would think of a 74-year old woman as a burglar?

She stopped when she found the name she was looking for. With a sigh and a determined mind she walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

She waited while she heard his footsteps approaching the door. He looked surprised when he opened the door and saw her standing there.

"Hi." She said and smiled.

"Hi." He answered back with a tired look on his face. She recognized that look; she had worn it herself for a long time. One of the hardest things when dealing with your loved ones passing away is meeting people that you haven't met for a while and having to explain everything to them. Relive it.

"I met Doula at the town Christmas' fare." She said, trying to ease his pain. At least he wouldn't have to utter the words. She already knew. "She told me about Jane."

"Yeah." He said and met her eyes. "It's been almost a year."

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner." He gestured to her to step inside and she did.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you…I just…She…" His voice cracked and she put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay. I understand."

He nodded and cleared his throat. "You still drink coffee?"

"Is the world still rotating around the sun?"

He smiled. "I'll go make some, the living room is on the right. Make yourself at home."

She went into the living room and looked around it. It felt homey. It was a small room with white bookshelves filled with books covering almost half the room. On the other half stood a light gray couch and a small TV set. She sat down on the couch and waited for him to arrive with the coffee.

Conversation was light; they smoothly avoided any subject that would make either of them feel uneasy or sad. They talked about memories. About Luke freaking out over thinking Lorelai would freak out when they got back from their honeymoon and he walked in on Rory and Jess kissing and found out they were dating again.

"Do you remember the look on his face?" Rory laughed as she put her empty coffee mug down.

"Do I ever, it's one my favorite memories of Luke." He answered with a smile.

Neither of them said anything more and a silence fell over the room. It hadn't worked out for them that time either. They had given it their best; they had spent almost two years trying to make it work. But with her working in New York and trying to make a name for herself as a journalist and him working in Philadelphia they had to give up as neither of them was really willing to give up what they had going and both refused to let the other do it.

Rory broke the silence and tried to steer the conversation towards her purpose of this visit. "Don't you think it's weird? Both of our loved ones passing away so early?"

He stirred at her question and an uneasy look appeared on his face. "Maybe." He shrugged his shoulders.

She took a deep breath to give herself courage to continue. "Almost like it's faith giving us a second chance." She made a face at the sound of her own words. They had come out so wrong, not at all the way she had intended them to.

His face turned to stone as he answered her question with restrained anger in his voice. "So you're saying my wife died so we could be together? Faith gave her cancer and ripped her away from me and made it so that she would never get to see her grandson?"

Rory shook her head. "I'm not saying that." She wished she could take back her words. This was not how she had planned this.

He bent his head down and his voice was tired when he continued. "You know Sarah went into labor four days after she passed away?"

"Life isn't fair." She hesitated before adding: "I'm sorry Jess."

He looked up at her with tears running down his face. "I did love her. I loved her so much."

She scolded herself for how her words had sounded. Heartless and cold. "I know you did." She said and moved closer to him and put her arm around him.

He didn't say a word but leaned towards her and let her comfort him. "I know you loved her."

She hesitated for a moment but then continued, determined to say what she had come here to say. "And I loved my husband and I don't regret marrying him or having his kids, not for a second. I was truly happy with him."

She took a moment to go over her next words in her head before continuing. She didn't want them to sound as heartless and cold as they had done before. "But that doesn't mean that I didn't still love you too. Because I did, all this time. I understand if you need more time, I just want you to know; I'm here and I'm ready. I want to spend my last days by your side, if you'll let me."

He broke free from her embrace and stared at her without saying a word.

She met his eyes and continued talking in a low voice. "It doesn't mean we loved them any less. It just means we're at one of those cross-roads again, where we've been so many times over the years. And this time I want us to walk down the same road. But maybe you haven't reached that cross-road yet."

He shook his head slowly as to say that he hadn't reached that cross-road. Or at least that's what she hoped the shaking meant.

She stood up from the couch. "Maybe I should have waited longer before bringing this up…After all, I've had nine years to process since Mark…" She didn't finish the sentence, she still had difficulties saying the word 'died' out loud. It sounded so horrible. She took a deep breath and walked towards the door. She stopped at the door way and bit her lower lip before turning around. "I'll be waiting for you at the cross-road. Take as much time as you need."

He looked up at her from the couch, his eyes all red from crying. "You don't mind waiting?"

She smiled and shook her head. "I'll bring a book."


End file.
